Читать книгу Таинственный остров / Mysterious Island - Жюль Верн, Жуль Верн - Страница 12

A half hour later they walked back to the camp. The land was an island, and tomorrow they would consider what to do.

The next day, March 30, after a hurried breakfast, they started out for the summit of the volcano. All desired to see the isle on which perhaps they were to spend their lives. It was about 7 o’clock in the morning when they left the camp.

“Bah!” said Pencroff, “we got out of Richmond without the permission of the authorities, and it will be strange if we can’t get away some time from this place!”

It was a superb day, and the southern side of the mountain was bathed in sunlight. The crater was a huge shaft gradually opening to a height of 1,000 feet above the plateau. The interior of the crater was easily scaled. They saw on the way traces of ancient lava. As to the volcano chimney, its depth could not be estimated by the eye, for it was lost in obscurity. Before 8 o’clock, the party was standing at the summit of the crater.

“The sea! The sea everywhere!” was the universal exclamation. There it lay, an immense sheet of water around them on every side. Nothing appeared to the horizon-line, a radius of more than fifty miles. Not a sail was in sight. Around the island stretched a desert infinity of ocean.

Silent and motionless, they surveyed every point of the horizon. Then they looked down upon their island, and the silence was broken by Spilett:

“How large do you think this island is?”

“It seemed small enough in the midst of the infinite ocean.”

“My friends,” said Smith, “if I am not mistaken, the coast of the island is more than 100 miles around.”

If Smith was right, the island would be about the size of Malta[48]; but it was more irregular than it. The eastern coast, upon which the castaways had landed, was a decided curve, embracing a large bay. On the northeast, two other capes shut in the bay, and between them lay a narrow gulf. From northeast to northwest the coast was round and flat, like the skull of a wild beast; then came a sort of indeterminate hump, whose centre was occupied by the volcanic mountain. From this point the coast ran directly north and south. For twothirds of its length it was bordered by a narrow creek; then it finished in along cue, like the tail of a gigantic alligator. The narrowest part of the island, between the Chimneys and the creek, on the west, was ten miles wide, but its greatest length was not less than thirty miles.

The southern part, from the shore to the mountain, was covered with woods; the northern part was arid and sandy. Between the volcano and the eastern coast there was a lake, surrounded by evergreens.

“So, then, it is a fresh water lake?” asked Pencroff.

“Yes, of course,” said the engineer.

“I can see a little river flowing into it,” said Herbert, pointing to a narrow brook.

The volcano did not occupy the centre of the island. It rose in the northwest, and seemed to indicate the dividing line of the two zones. On the southwest, south, and southeast, the beginnings of the spurs were lost in masses of verdure.

They remained for an hour at the summit of the mountain. The island lay stretched before them like a plan in relief[49], with its different tints, green for the forests, yellow for the sands, blue for the water. They understood the configuration of the entire island, but there remained a great question: was the island inhabited? It was the reporter who put this question. Nowhere could they perceive the handiwork of man; no late settlement on the beach, not even a lonely cabin or a fisherman’s hut. No smoke rising on the air.

The exploration of the island was finished, its configuration determined, a map of it drawn, its size calculated. They had only now to descend the declivities of the mountain, and to examine into the animal, vegetable, and mineral resources of the land. But before giving the signal of departure, Cyrus Smith, in a calm, grave voice, addressed his companions.

“Look, my friends, upon this little corner of the earth. Here, perhaps, we may long dwell.”

“Mr. Smith,” said the sailor, “we will make a little America here. We will build cities, lay railroads, establish telegraphs. We should not consider ourselves any longer as castaways, but as colonists. Well, let’s start for the Chimneys!”

“One minute, my friends,” said the engineer; “let’s name the island, as well as the capes, promontories, and water-courses, which we see before us.”

“Yes,” said Smith, “for instance, let us call the great bay to the east Union Bay[50], the southern indentation Washington Bay[51], the mountain on which we are standing Mount Franklin[52], the lake beneath our feet Lake Grant[53]. These names will recall our country and the great citizens who have honored it. What will you say, my friends?”

The engineer’s proposal was unanimously applauded. Spilett put down the names over the proper places, and the geographical nomenclature of the island was complete.

“Now,” said the reporter, “to that peninsula projecting from the southwest I propose to give the name of Serpentine Peninsula[54], and to call the twisted curve at the termination of it Reptile End[55], for it is just like a snake’s tail.”

“And the other extremity of the island,” said Herbert, “the gulf so like an open pair of jaws, let us call it Shark Gulf[56].”

“Good enough,” said Pencroff, “and we may complete the figure by calling the two capes North Mandible[57] and South Mandible[58]. Now we must name the southwestern extremity of the island.

“Claw Cape[59],” suggested Neb.

The river with fresh water they called the Mercy[60]. The islet on which they first set foot, was Safety Island[61]; the plateau at the top of the high granite wall above the Chimneys, from which the whole sweep of the bay was visible, Prospect Plateau[62]; and, finally, that mass of impenetrable woods which covered Serpentine Peninsula, the Forests of the Far West[63].

All was settled, and the colonists were about to descend the mountain, when Pencroff cried:

“Why, what idiots we are!”

“Why so?” said Spilett, who had closed his note-book.

“We have forgotten to name our island!”

Cyrus Smith said quietly:

“Let us give it the name of a great citizen, my friends, of the defender of American unity! Let us call it Lincoln Island[64]!”